


Where the Spirits Live

by 1QueasyCrow



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Animal Death, Asphyxiation, Blood, Blood and Gore, Capital T Terrible, Hunters & Hunting, I'm Bad At Tagging, Like, Other, Swearing, This is kinda dark, Violence, but i gotta set up a plot, even for me, i cant belive frost and nomad dont have a ship tag yet, its not actually too bad until the last chapter, spooky things, then we really go off the deep end, yall been sleeping on them, your faves are in here i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1QueasyCrow/pseuds/1QueasyCrow
Summary: Did you hear that?Son you, gotta man up, this job ain’t for whiny little bitches, it’s probably just the wind.And so it was.What they did not know, was how angry the wind had become.
Relationships: Frost & Nomad, Frost/Nomad, Tina "Frost" Lin Tsang/Sanaa "Nomad" El Maktoub
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Once Upon a Time...

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!  
> This is for the Siege-oween 2020 event by the lovely folks over at @dualrainbow on tumblr for the prompt "Did you hear that?" Like the tags say there are some dark themes in here please read the tags carefully, I will say *most* of the darker stuff comes in at ch 3 but if you don't want to read that is also totally cool, I have a bunch of fluffy works you can check out instead. Amazing, now that my shameless plug is done on with the show.

Brandon kicked at the snow, the soft powder pluming in front of him, hitting his cheeks and stinging the sensitive skin there. They had been walking for nearly two hours by his reckoning, through dense forest and heavy snowfall. It was one of the most miserable afternoons he could remember in nearly 18 years of backwoods trekking.

He wished for the cozy heat of an old radiator or even the mild temperatures of one of the southern provinces. It was only October here but the north seemed to favour year round snow more than the inkling of four distinct seasons.

Beaufort grunted beside him, “Keep up lad, I feel like I’m hauling this thing solo.”

He looked back at the plastic wrapped mass behind them. the soft pale fur of an ear peeked back at him from the bundle, the fading light catching a tiny flick of red on its tip.

They had tracked a sighting of the Kermode for nearly a hundred kilometers, dodging other wildlife and local patrols before Beaufort had taken the shot. The thick weather meant it had initially missed its target and the bear had lumbered on for another fifty meters or so before a second bullet had brought it down. Grayson had fumed about ruining the pelt and how precarious their situation with the buyer was already but their fixer and middle man Leblanc, as always, managed to calm him with sweet words and the idea of more money than god.

Eddie Grayson had been a friend of Brandon’s father and had taken him in when his mom had landed herself in the morgue. He had given him clothes and food, a place to stay and even a job when he turned 16. Brandon was eternally grateful for the boons had been given him but sometimes, he wished he could squirm out from beneath the thumb of obligation Grayson had him under so firmly.

Brandon remained lost in his thoughts until Beaufort grumbled beside him again to pick up the pace as they were almost back at the truck, but before they got more than ten meters their survivalist, Jaxon Brown appeared from the bush with a worried look on his face. He waved to Grayson, who in turn gave a nod to both Leblanc and Beaufort and the three men ambled over.

The wind, which seemed to have become steadily angrier over the past few hours, stopped any of the conversation from reaching Brandon’s frostbitten ears but he could see the anger grow across the tired features of Grayson’s face.

When the conversation finished, Brandon turned away, leaning into the pretense that he hadn’t been trying to hear every word. He hoped the others would buy it, or at least pretend to. It turned out his failed eavesdropping was the least of anyone's concerns as the group broke to return to their cargo.

“Damned local snitches,” he heard Grayson mutter as he shoved past to the front of the line.

Brandon looked to Beaufort who was re-shouldering the weight of their prize.

“What happened?” He asked quietly.

“Rangers and some pigs, must’ve gotten a tip that we was about. They're waiting in the brush just the other side of the hill for us. I imagine Eddie’s kept you out of too much trouble but I ain’t lookin to end up too close to the inside of a concrete cell ever again.”

The revelation shook Brandon, he knew what they did wasn’t strictly legal but with the way Grayson talked it made their jobs sound like a helpful service, nothing more than aiding a friend in acquiring a lost belonging. Between sweet words and the money he brought in Brandon sometimes forgot how different his view was from the rest of the world.

The sky grew dark as they marched on in search of a place to camp for the night. The trees loomed taller and taller as the grey sky dimmed its light until the only source was the diffused headlamp Grayson wore at the front to find their way through the bush. The cloudy day had turned to a blackest night and more than once Brandon ended up tripping over a rock or root for lack of visibility. Each time he sorely wished for his own torch, the one nestled safely in his bag, but any additional light was just a flare for park authorities looking to catch a stray band of poachers. 

And so they continued their trudge for what felt like hours, the cold seeping through Brandon's body as the carcass behind him seemed to gain mass with each step he took. More than once he wondered if jail was this cold or miserable, Beaufort must have had quite the experience if this was his preferred alternative. Brandon was on the cusp of determining whether or not they would find it prudent to shoot him should he run, when Eddie stopped their little procession with a hand and a whisper.

A large shape loomed in front of them, a shadow against a marginally lighter sky. At first Brandon thought it might be a large boulder but as they grew closer he could begin to make out the square lines of a man made structure. The smiles on the rest of the crew's faces confirmed that they could not believe their luck either, an abandoned house was just what they needed.

The chalet was large, in fact, mansion was a far more apt term. Two stories and perhaps an attic sprawled across a facade of at least 50 meters, a number of broken windows and a partially caved in roof marked years of disuse. Even with all its flaws it could have been a castle for what their needs were.

The double front doors creaked on old hinges, rust grinding away at itself as the mechanisms moved for the first time in god knows how long. A dull shaft of light from Grayson’s headlamp filtered into the front hallway, as the trappers welcomed themselves and their prize inside. Greeted only by decrepit furnishings that looked to be a century out of fashion even for a rustic abode such as this the whole place gave off an eerie vibe that Brandon could not shake. Once they had all filed in, Grayson did not delay in beginning to bark orders at his team.

“Leblanc, Brown check around to see if there’s anything we can use in this dump. Beaufort, get to work on this thing,” he said, nudging the plastic with his foot. The other men nodded and quickly got to work, spreading out and disappearing into various parts of the house.

“What about me?” Brandon said. Grayson hadn’t mentioned him but he knew better than to think that meant he was off the hook as far as jobs went.

“Go find some firewood,” he pointed out the front door, “I don’t wanna avoid the cops just to freeze in this place.”

Brandon looked out into the dark as the house shifted with a terrible groan. It almost sounded like a growl.

“Did you hear that?” He said, failing to keep the note of fear from his voice.

“Son you gotta man up, this job ain’t for whiny little bitches, it’s probably just the wind. Here, take this,” he said pulling the hatchet from his belt and handing it to Brandon. “Come back with firewood or don't come back you hear!” He finished, shoving Brandon out the door and closing it behind him.

The door slammed and the wind howled around him as he walked further and further from the house.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not wise to appropriate a house in the middle of the woods.

Sanna sat cross legged atop the rocky overhang that watched over the little house she shared with Frost the wind whispered around her bringing news from all corners of the world, a secret in Mecca, a revolt in Vegas, a death in Madrid, a discovery in Dubai. All the stories of the earth and its inhabitants swimming through the atmosphere to her ears. The shuffling, stuttered footsteps of Frost’s uneven gait brought her back to the little hilltop where she opened her eyes to find her partner staring curiously at her.

“Mon amour, what is it?”

Frost looked toward their house and back to Sanna, her clouded eyes flicking to and fro while blue tipped fingers played with the worn fabric of her coat collar.

Frost did not often speak aloud, usually preferring to communicate via thought and movement, it was part of her charm and something Sanaa enjoyed greatly about her company. She did, however, often need prompting to share her thoughts. Sanaa was just about to ask her question a second time when Frost looked one last time at the house before opening her mouth and growling as she brought her hands to the sides of her face in a gesture of gnarled horns.

Frost had once been a human but when her hunting party left her for dead in the darkest depths of a frozen December forest, a wandering spirit had taken pity on the frostbitten girl and saved her. It was a kindness only in the eyes of a spirit who did not understand life and death beyond a binary of good and not and Frost now existed in a state of undeath. Caught between worlds, her mind constantly pulled itself in opposing directions tore at its own fabric and ever intent on loosening her fragile clutch of self and reality.

“Monsters? I suppose we two disprove it were I to say there are no such things. Shall we go together and see what has taken to our home?”

Again the demon spirit cocked her head but this time took Sanaa’s outstretched hand, trusting her to carry them both down safely as she leapt over the edge of the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They cute an I love 'em.  
> Get ready for bloodshed, also come check out more of these two with me on tumblr @1queasycow


	3. ...On a Dark...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not split up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW tags are in effect this shit is dark, you have been warned.

####  LEBLANC (I)

Leblanc climbed the stairs of the old abode. They had come across the house in a stroke of luck, Grayson had suggested hiding in the forest after the rangers had found the truck they were using. None of them fancied the fines or worse that came with shooting a Kermode so they had fled into the dense trees without much fuss to their leader.

The stairs lead up to a second floor where Leblanc had to play a careful game of hopscotch to avoid rotted floorboards and suspect looking debris. What was left of the landing opened up in opposing directions. From the west wing he could feel a cool draft, probably from that hole in the roof he had seen earlier, in which case the eastern wing looked to be his best bet for any supplies of use. The first room he found had little in the way of helpful items, he grabbed a moth-eaten blanket from the small bed before moving on.

The second and third rooms along the corridor were much the same, bedrooms that had lost any sense of usefulness from the wear and tear of time and nature. The last room appeared to be a small study, it had a door that was missing the portion where a lock might have been and upon closer inspection, Leblanc found the chunk of twisted metal on the floor just inside the small office. He picked it up, turned it in his hand. Just as he was about to toss it back something skittered behind him. He swung his torch around but caught nothing except the empty hall. He stood there, frozen in place for a few more seconds before returning to the little room.

Leblanc picked his way over fallen furniture towards the wooden desk that sat in the corner, it was a relic and might have fetched a tidy price were it not for the mold that he could see around its edges. He began to pull open the drawers, most had nothing of use, in one he found some matches but not much else.

The last drawer stuck the first time he tried it and again the second. In his experience, Leblanc found people often kept valuables in places which deterred the uninitiated, a particularly sticky drawer for example. He braced one foot against the aging wood and grabbed the handle with both hands and gave a testing pull before yanking hard. The drawer budged then gave way, exploding in a flurry of splinters. Leblanc stumbled backwards as something flew towards him he yelled and batted it away. The skittering returned for a moment but this time his torch was faster and he caught the racoon in his beam. It hissed and bared sharp little teeth before skittering under a piece of debris and away into the rest of the house.

Leblanc laughed quietly to himself, of course something was bound to call this place home, no need to get so worked up over it. He took a seat in the spare chair by the windowless wall and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket. The smoke curled around him as he sat puffing away. Around halfway through his smoke his chest began to feel tight, he rubbed at it to no avail, it was only when he moved to get up that he felt something keeping him there, like invisible rope had snaked around his chest, and lashed him to the chair. His mind began to panic. He tried to draw enough breath to scream but the grasp around him just coiled tighter. Every exhale left him with a dwindling amount of air and soon his vision was beginning to go black. The last thing he noticed was a flush of warmth rolling down his face and childlike giggles in the back of his head.

####  BROWN (II)

Brown had talked with Leblanc after Grayson had set them on their duties of supply hunting, he had lost a coin toss and been saddled with the basement while Leblanc had been awarded the upstairs. Although there was no proof, Brown felt sure he had been cheated, Leblanc was the best swindler he had ever met and unfortunately that extended to those he called friends. It would surely surprise no one if the Frenchman kept a double faced coin on him at all time for just such occasions as a coin toss with an unfavourable outcome at stake. As events stood, fuming over the other man's morals would do little to help him in his search for supplies. And so, with a sigh, he heaved at the trapdoor to the lower floor and descended into the darkness.

The basement of the chateau was more of a root cellar than anything else, barrels of various preserves lined packed dirt walls and most of the floor. Whoever had previously lived here had been well prepared. Looking closer at one of the barrels he found a tag attached to the metal ring that held the girth of the container ‘ _ Pickles 21 January, 1904’ _ said the paper, written out in a long flourishing scrawl. Well, no matter how good their preserve was, that wouldn't do for much beyond clearing one's stomach. He checked the other tags, the newest he found being 1912 and some of the older ones more than 50 years prior. All within an easy classification of ‘not to be eaten’ he thought.

A small doorway to another underground chamber caught his eye behind some barrels against the far wall, no part of him wanted to venture further from the stairs but the thought of Grayson finding out he had missed something down here drove him forward. That was until he heard a skittering and the sound of something breaking in the mysterious room and was sent fleeing for the main floor. To hell with Grayson and his temper, if he wanted someone to check this hell hole he could very well do it himself.

The main floor was nearly as dark as the basement had been but for the exception of Grayson's headlamp added to Brown's torch.

“That was quick,” Grayson said, standing from where he had been inspecting the contents of a cupboard.

“Yeah well, big house, small cellar,” Brown lied.

“Anything we can use?”

“Not unless you want to eat hundred and seventy year old herring,” Brown said, he couldn't tell if Grayson believed him or not. Their leader was a staunchly unreadable man at the best of times and the darkness did nothing to help. Bracing for the worst Brown was surprised when the other man spoke without the expected anger.

“Go find Leblanc upstairs then, haven't heard from him in a minute and I usually can't get the bastard to shut up,” he said waving in the general direction of the stairs. With no more than a nod Brown was off.

The entire upstairs was freezing, patches of ice slicked the rotting floors. Between that and the holes that pockmarked the wood it was a wonder Grayson hadn’t seen Leblanc come crashing through the floor already. The west wing gave Brown little more than snow and ice, the roof having collapsed in some time ago so he picked his way over to the other side of the upstairs, upturned beds and a few opened cupboards told him that Leblanc had already picked over these rooms so he merely skimmed them before moving on. It was only when he was coming to the end of the hall that he found his compatriot. One boot poking out the door, evidently the other man had found enough supplies to feel comfortable in taking a nap.

“Laying down on the job is it?” He teased, nudging Leblanc’s boot with his toe. The other man did not seem to notice so Brown kicked harder only for the boot and attached leg to come away from the door in a bloody arc. Brown yelped and fell backwards, the door in front of him opening to reveal a gruesome scene.

Leblanc's arms lay on either side of the room, his legs at the feet of a chair rested against the wall. His torso was gone and the walls gleamed sticky and red. Viscera clung to every surface he could see, creating lumpy textures where once was smooth wood and stone. Brown nearly wretched, and then he did wretch. He tried to scream but his lungs refused to let him. The world spun as he grasped at the wall, trying to find purchase on the smooth wood. The blood rushed in his ears, he could feel his heart tossing itself about inside his ribs. Finally he managed to stand but his first step was stopped by a loose board and he tripped. He felt wetness on his cheek, when he opened his eyes Leblanc stared back at him, his face sprayed with gore, his eyes drenched in fear. Brown did scream then. He screamed at a volume he did not realize was possible. He screamed and scrambled, pushing at the floor, his hands and feet slid across the slick surface and more than once he fell back to the ground each time greeted by Leblanc’s cold gaze.

Eventually he skittered back, out of the nightmare and into the hallway his heart battering itself against the inside of his chest. He gave himself no time to calm down before hauling himself up and running in the opposite direction. When he finally stopped running Brown realized he had ended up in the western wing of the upstairs.

He gulped in cold air with greedy breaths, it burned his lungs but he didn’t care. Leblanc was dead and not by anything he could explain. How could this happen? Were it not for the fact that the entire house had been mostly silent Brown could have sworn the other man must have swallowed a live grenade. Perhaps it was the cold, he was getting hypothermia and it was all an illusion. He continued to breathe deeply, the cold air a good cleanse to his senses. Before long he had become so accustomed to it that his lungs no longer burned, his cheeks no longer stung and he felt...warm? Warm, yes like a mild spring day. If only he could take a few steps...a few...his legs..they would not move.

Brown tried again to take a step, to wiggle his toes, anything.

Nothing.

He began to panic his breathing becoming heavier and heavier but each breath felt like breaking out of concrete. He tried to loosen his collar but his fingers would not obey. He brought them to his mouth in an attempt to warm them but as his breath touched the first digit it cracked with a sick sound, the fissure splintering down to his wrist and along his arm. Brown tried to scream but his lungs refused to move. His vision went dark with terror as his arm continued to crumble in front of him. Before he blacked out something cut through the shadows, a woman's voice and the words ‘ _ Ca m'est egal’. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ca m'est egal’ is in fact a phrase attributable to Nomad, and yea this was supposed to be three chapters but by the second section of this one it was already as long as chapter one. so four chapters(?) it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave those essays in the comments or yell at me on the tumblr at 1queasycrow (and yes you will see the baes in the next chapter)


End file.
